


quiet beats loud

by nasa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Mind Manipulation, basically mind reading when u look at someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 00:29:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16074578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasa/pseuds/nasa
Summary: A witch casts a spell so that whenever the Avengers' eyes meet, they can hear each other's thoughts. Tony doesn't deal well.





	quiet beats loud

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsallAvengers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallAvengers/gifts).



> this was commissioned by the AMAZING itsallavengers who provided me with the entire plot idea! thank you so much for letting me write such a lovely story, I hope you like how it turned out!

“Is something wrong?” Steve asks the third day in a row that Tony refuses to sit in his usual spot at the breakfast table.

Tony stiffens slightly at Steve’s words, shuffling in his new chair, as far away from Steve as he can manage.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Tony tells him unconvincingly, propping up his pad in front of him. He won’t look at Steve, won’t meet his eye. “I just have work to do, you know.”

Steve really doesn’t know - what could be so important it couldn’t wait ten minutes for Tony to eat his goddamn toast? - but he just nods, looking down at his own soggy cereal. There’s something tight in his throat, but he swallows another spoonful down anyway, tasting it like foam in his mouth.

Steve really has to figure out why Tony is so opposed to him reading his mind.

-

The whole fiasco starts on a Tuesday afternoon when a witch blinks into existence in the middle of Broadway.

 That in itself is cause for annoyance, because Tuesdays are Steve and Tony’s days. It’s unofficial, of course, but whenever both of them are in the country and not working towards a frantic deadline, they meet up and got lunch. Half the time it’s something new and exotic - Jewish-Asian fusion, mac and cheese pizza, cereal milk ice cream from this little place on 13th Street - and half the time it's comforting classics. Today they’re headed to Tony’s favorite spot for carbonara, cheerfully bickering about which motorcycle is the best of the year, when their phones start beeping simultaneously.

“Level Three alert,” Tony reads, groaning. “God, can’t we ever catch a break?”

Steve shakes his head ruefully. “Apparently not.”

“And it’s a fucking magician, too. Every time.”

Steve reaches out to grasp at the armor already crawling over Tony’s shoulders. “Somehow I’m sure we’ll survive,” he says, and Tony shoots up into the sky instead of replying, stealing Steve’s words from his chest.

By the time they get to the scene, Thor is already there, along with Nat and Sam. “Our green friend decided to remain at home,” Thor informs them as he tosses Steve his shield. “He will fly out if needed.”

“Well, hopefully, he won’t be,” Tony says from where he hovered above their heads. “What’s her deal?”

The witch is hovering in a green bubble, like a drop of candy suspended in midair. Her legs are pointed up and her arms are twisted in what looks like a vaguely nauseating yoga position.

“Pedestrians said she appeared out of nowhere,” Natasha says, sidling up beside them. “Shot a bit of energy around until everyone fled the area, then did this.”

“She Asgardian?” Tony asks.

“Possibly,” Thor says, looking considering. “Nobody I know, certainly, but she could be some sort of minor god or some other sort of creature, perhaps just one wearing an Asgardian skin.”

Tony sighs, the sound crackling over the comms. “Great,” he says. “Mystery magician while Strange is on vacation, why am I not surprised? Remind me to dock his Christmas bonus this year.”

Then, before any of them can say anything, he’s up and heading towards the bubble. “Going to try energy penetration,” he says, and to his credit, he waits for Steve’s okay before he fires.

Still, the pulse is useless, bouncing straight back off the bubble so Tony has to dodge his own attack. “Lightning is similarly ineffectual,” Thor informs them, and Steve bites back a sigh.

“Maybe sonar?” Tony suggests. They go through a million different techniques like this, shooting everything Tony has at the bubble, even coming at it with Thor’s hammer and Steve’s shield, but nothing gives. Steve feels more and more ridiculous the more time passes until suddenly, he realizes the witch has opened her eyes.

“Shit,” Tony says at exactly the same moment, swooping a bit lower to rejoin the pack. “Uh, lady? What the fuck?”

She just grins at them. Even from this distance, Steve can tell her teeth are sharp, jagged and crooked like a wolf’s. “You’re welcome,” she tells them. Steve is opening his mouth to ask her what for when her bubble explodes in a supernova of green light. Momentarily blinded, Steve has to close his eyes for a minute before he can see again.

By the time he reopens them, though, she is gone. In her wake is nothing but a bit of minor property damage - a bent lamppost, a cracked sidewalk, a broken statue.

Steve glances around quickly, cataloging each Avenger is present and accounted for. Thor, Natasha, Sam, Tony -

Steve’s gaze meets Tony’s, and it’s like someone is speaking directly into his ear.  _What the fuck was that?_ a voice says inside Steve’s brain, and Steve realizes it’s Tony’s. Why is Tony in his head?

 _Oh, shit,_ the voice says, as Tony pales in front of Steve,  _Oh, fuck, this is -_

And then, suddenly, the voice cuts off. Tony has torn his gaze away from Steve and is fully facing another direction, so Steve can barely see his face. All he can make out is a red tinge to the back of his neck, an angry twist of his mouth.

 _What was that -_ Steve thinks, turning to the rest of the group, but the question doesn’t stay long. Because as soon as he makes eye contact with each of them, he gets a wave of their thoughts - Thor thinking that this is just the kind of stunt his brother likes to pull, Sam wondering why the hell he thought this Avengers business was a good idea, Natasha remembering that the green of the bubble was precisely the shade of the grass of a field she once killed a man in.

 _Jesus,_ Steve thinks, averting his eyes quickly to the ground. This is going to be a long day.

-

“- so, unfortunately, unless we can find the witch who did this, it looks like all we can do is wait.”

The whole team has spent the last four hours undergoing a battery of tests at SHIELD - MRIs, PET scans, X-rays, psychological workups - and “wait it out” is the best SHIELD can come up with. Steve wants to sigh or at least complain to the panel of doctors working on the case, but Bruce is one of them, so instead Steve just tries for an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m sure we’ll all be fine.”

For the most part, he really does think they will be. After all, there are much worse things that could have happened - it’s not like their enemies can read their mind, or Fury. It’s just the five of them, five of the core group of Avengers that are as close as a family. Thor is showing no issues with it, already lacking a sense of privacy, and Natasha is so good at controlling herself that she’s even managed to corral her thoughts. Sam seems a bit more embarrassed about it, but, like Steve, he’s largely resigned to it all. But Tony, though - Tony seems to be having a bit more difficult of a time.

Steve glances over at him, trying again to meet his eye, but there’s nothing. Ever since he glanced away from Steve on the field, he’s refused to meet his eye or even glance in his direction. Instead, for the entirety of the meeting he’s been staring down at the little pad in his hands, refusing to meet anyone - even Bruce’s - gaze. Steve can’t help but be a little concerned; Tony looks so uncomfortable, Steve knows this must be crossing some boundary for him, but he doesn’t know how to make it any better.

“I will reach out to my mother,” Thor informs all of them, pulling Steve out of his thoughts. “She may be able to break the spell. I will update you forthwith.”

Thor and Steve’s eyes meet for a brief moment before Thor sweeps from the room, and Steve is hit with a wave of joviality. He grins; he always knew Thor was faking that complicated old accent.

“I should be headed to the lab,” Bruce says, pulling off his glasses to polish them on his t-shirt. “I left an experiment running and I wouldn’t want it to explode.”

“I think I’ll be heading back to the Tower, too,” Sam says, pushing himself to his feet. “Anybody else?”

Steve meets Sam’s gaze briefly, and it’s just long enough to confirm, without speaking, that Steve’ll be headed there soon as well. Sam must also get the gist that Steve wants to hang back, though, because he turns to Natasha, and after a brief wordless glance, they’re both gliding from the room.

It’s funny, Steve thinks. This mind-reading thing may be a little invasive, but it’s nothing if not practical. Like a comm unit inside your brain.

The door swings shut behind Sam with a clang, and Steve is jarred back into the present. Across from him, Tony hasn’t moved, or even shown any indication that he’s aware of where Steve is; he keeps staring down at the goddamned pad, as though if he waits long enough, Steve will leave.

“Tony,” Steve tries, and Tony hums without looking up. “Tony, we should probably talk about this.”

Tony shrugs, still without looking Steve in the eye. “What’s there to talk about?” he says. “We wait, it resolves itself, everything goes back to normal.”

“You seem -“ Steve searches for the right word. “Uncomfortable. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, that there’s nothing I can do -“

“I’m fine, Cap,” Tony interrupts, words swift and final. “It’s not the worst thing that can happen, right? I mean, at least everyone can’t see inside our heads.”

“That’s true,” Steve agrees, though he can’t help but wonder why, if Tony truly thinks that, he’s still so steadfast in looking away. He waits a moment longer, hoping Tony will say something else, but the silence just stretches. “Anyway,” Steve says finally, pushing himself to his feet, “I’m going to go catch a ride with the others. I guess I’ll see you at home?”

Tony nods down at the table. “See you at home,” he says. He doesn’t look up at Steve, not even when Steve steps forward and gives his shoulder a brief squeeze.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Steve says softly. The moment draws long, and finally, Steve turns and walks away, trying to ignore the worry gnawing at his lungs.

-

Steve misses the Quinjet by just a few minutes, so ends up borrowing a SHIELD motorcycle to take home to the Tower. It ends up working out for the best: nothing clears his head quite like a fast ride, and he takes a detour out of the way just so he can pick up the speed.

By the time Steve gets home, it’s almost dinner time, and the rest of the Avengers are clustered in the kitchen, cooking. Bruce is at the stove, Natasha at the cutting board. Thor is mixing some sort of drink, and Sam flits around stealing bites of raw vegetables, the whole place filled with steam and laughter. Tony alone is absent.

“Guess everybody is adjusting okay, then?” Steve asks wryly and is met with four sharp gazes, three of them loaded. Their thoughts assault Steve’s mind, one by one: Natasha, wondering whether Tony has fled to Pepper or Rhodey’s, Sam wishing they could have made Chinese instead of Indian, Thor and the burning memory of a man, long ago, who looked not unlike Steve does at this moment.

They break away, one by one, and then Steve is left blinking in his own mind. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to that.”

“I know, right?” Sam agrees, taking advantage of Natasha’s brief distraction to pilfer a carrot from the cutting board. She waves her knife at his fingers in warning but allows the theft. “I feel like I’m in Star Trek or something.”

“Where’s Tony?” Bruce asks Steve, adding a shake of spice to the bubbling pot on the stove. “I thought he was coming back with you.”

“Oh, he’s hiding,” Sam answers before Steve can come up with a good way to reply. Steve looks over at him, surprised, but Sam just shrugged. “You’re thinking about him,” he explains.

Steve sighs, settling on the stool next to Sam. “Yeah.”

Sam pokes at him. “Come on, cheer up. Tony’s weird, okay, it’s not your fault. Look, Thor’s got mead, that’ll cheer you up.”

And surprisingly enough, it does. Bruce’s curry is delicious, and they chase it with swigs of honey-flavored mead that leaves them all laughing and flushed. At some point, they migrate to the living room, where someone pulls out a deck of cards and they attempt to play poker. It’s a fun game all the time, but now there’s a newly added level of challenge, trying to tell if someone’s lying without giving away your own cards. Natasha wins because of course she does. As payment, she eeks various promises and favors out of the other players: a foot rub from Sam, a free meal from Bruce, a drawing from Steve. Thor and Natasha are haggling about what his gift to her should be - “A dagger,” Natasha insists, though Thor thinks that’s far too impersonal a gift - when the elevator doors slide open.

Like a flock of birds, their heads turn as one to look at the elevator as Tony steps out of it. He seems surprised to see them, but he schools his expression pretty fast, averting his gaze to the table instead of their faces.

“Playing poker?” he says when he sees the cards. “Seems like a bad time for it.”

“Well, drunk people make bad decisions,” Sam says, and Tony huffs out a tiny bit of a laugh.

“Can’t argue with that,” he says. “Well, I’m just going to go to my room and try to forget I’m an alcoholic. Good night.”

“Tony -“ Steve starts.

But Tony’s already disappeared, as quiet and formless as a ghost, leaving nothing but a bitter atmosphere in his wake. Steve sighs, the easy camaraderie of the night suddenly soured, and pushes himself to his feet.

“I’m headed to bed,” he says. “I’ll see you all the morning.”

There’s a chorus of goodnights, both verbal and internal as Steve catches the eyes of a few of his teammates. Their thoughts are all similar: not particularly concerned, but muted, almost sad. Steve tries not to think about it too much. He heads off to bed.

-

Things continue in a similar manner for the next couple of days. Tony is quiet and evasive around everyone, withdrawn in a way Steve’s never seen him before. Steve doesn’t like it, but he thinks its okay, at first. Tony stays away from the common areas more than usual and spends a disproportionate amount of his time with Bruce, but it’s not like Steve is the only one he’s avoiding. He’s just uncomfortable with people being inside his head, as he has the right to be; it’s no cause for concern.

Except as the days pass, Steve begins to notice that Tony’s antipathy is  _not_ spread equally among the Avengers. Tony still meets Thor’s gaze when they spar; Tony still looks Sam in the eye when he greets him every morning; Tony still refuses to shy away from Natasha’s irritated glare.

In fact, the only person Tony seems to be particularly avoiding is Steve. Steve tries deliberately to catch Tony’s gaze a couple of times, but Tony always looks away at the last second, ensuring their eyes never meet. For the life of him, Steve can’t figure out what the problem is.

“Am I just imagining it?” he asks Natasha, after that third morning in the kitchen, where Tony insists nothing is wrong.

Natasha passes him a mug of tea, settling on the couch next to him. “No, you’re not imagining it,” she says. “But it’s not what you think either.”

Steve catches her gaze for just a moment, and is swamped with Natasha’s thoughts -  _emotionally stunted, they’ll be fine, just a matter of time -_ and her emotions -  _a warm rush of sympathy, the edge of nagging worry._ Natasha lets him feel it for a moment, and then her mind deliberately turns to a memorized recitation of all the world’s capitals, and Steve tears his eyes away.

“You’ll be fine,” Natasha says gently when Steve doesn’t say anything. “He’s got issues, Steve, you know that. It can’t surprise you so much to know there are things in his brain he doesn’t want others to see.”

“But it’s not others, is it?” Steve asks, fingering the edge of his coffee mug. “It’s just me.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Finally, Natasha sighs, settling her hand lightly on Steve’s shoulder. “You’ll work it out,” she assures him. Usually, when Natasha feels bold enough to say such things, Steve finds it reassuring: after all, she doesn’t make a promise she doesn’t feel will keep. But with Tony avoiding him like this, everything feels weird enough that Steve could imagine Natasha being wrong.

He sips his tea, not reassured at all.

-

Six days in, Steve says  _fuck it_ and heads down to the lab. He hasn’t come down here much over the past week; Tony’s made it clear he doesn’t want to see Steve, and the lab is supposed to be his safe place, somewhere Steve tries not to trespass. But things have reached a critical threshold. Just this morning, at team training, Natasha had gotten dropped during a basic maneuver because of Steve and Tony’s lack of communication. She was only lightly bruised and insisted she’d be fine in a few hours, but it was a bad sign: if they were messing up plays in the training room then they’d do even worse out of the field. Steve had tried to talk to Tony about it after the drill was over, but Tony had made an excuse about a board meeting and darted out the door, so now Steve is here.

“This has got to stop.”

Tony’s shoulders stiffen at Steve’s words but he won’t turn around. He’ll never turn to face Steve. Steve wonders how long it would take for him to forget the exact shade of Tony’s eyes; it’s only been a week but already Steve feels like his memory is failing him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cap,” Tony says cheerfully.

“Tony, I’m serious.”

Tony hums. “Cap voice, good call, really makes me shiver in my boots.”

Steve grits his teeth and plows on. “It was one thing when it was just affecting us personally, but now it’s affecting team dynamics. We were a mess in training today, and it was because you and I weren’t clicking. Because you won’t  _talk_ to me. Just talk to me, Tony, I just want to understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Tony says, voice uncharacteristically cold. “I told you, there’s nothing going on. I’m  _fine.”_

And, god, it’s like the beginning all over again, oil and water, nothing to put out the flame.  _“Fine,”_  Steve huffs, frustrated. “Yeah, you seem fine. You’re so fine you won’t even  _glance_ at me. Damnit, Tony.  _Damn it._ Why can’t you just  _look_ at me?” he explodes, grabbing Tony by the forearm and yanking him around so they’re facing each other. Their eyes meet for a split second, just long enough for Steve to get a flash of some undecipherable emotion before Tony squeezes his eyes shut.

“Wow,” Tony says, voice low and rough in the quiet lab. “Never thought you’d be one to force yourself on someone.”

The words strike low in Steve’s stomach. He lets go of Tony’s arm, feeling abruptly sick. “Tony,” he says, but can’t make anything else come out.

Tony just shakes his head, turning around fully before he opens his eyes. “Stop trying to get inside my head,” Tony says and walks out.

The door hisses shut behind him, and Steve looks down at his hands. What is so wrong with him that Tony can’t bear to be in his brain, even for a moment? Tony is Steve’s best friend, his home, the person he loves more than anyone else in the world and - this? How long as Tony thought this about him? How long has Steve been broken?

Steve curls his hand into a fist and closes his eyes.

-

“What do we got?” Steve barks as Thor drops him onto the asphalt.

The Avengers Alarm had gone off in the middle of breakfast, which was the usual stilted, awkward affair. Tony hadn’t even deigned to greet Steve, curling up in the corner of the room with earbuds in, a coffee mug grasped tightly in both hands. He hadn’t heard the Avengers Alarm at first; Bruce had had to prod him into awareness.

“Looks like the same woman as last week,” Hill informs them over the comms. “This time she seems particularly pissed off, yelling something about destiny being subverted and ‘idiot humans’. We’re not sure what her problem is, but she’s started blowing things up, now, and several civilians have gotten injured.”

Steve bites back a sigh.  _Great._ Just what he needed.

But he doesn’t voice any of it. “Thor,” he says instead, “Get an aerial view on her. See if you can recognize her at all. The rest of you, lets get started on civilian evac.”

“Coming in over 4th Ave,” Tony says. His voice sends a little pang through Steve’s chest, but Steve ignores it. Now isn’t the time.

“I’ll take the East,” Sam pipes up, and Steve catches a glint of his wing between two buildings as he banks hard to turn. “There’s a group of kids a block south of the witch, you want to get them, Cap?”

“Thanks, Falcon,” Steve says and breaks out into a jog.

Sure enough, there’s a huddle of second-graders hiding behind a bus stop, and Steve ushers them down into the nearest subway station, where a large group of New Yorkers is waiting. A couple are former soldiers, and they follow Steve when he returns back to the field, helping to usher kids down into safety.

Compared to most fights, it’s relatively easy, and maybe that’s why Steve lets his guard down. After all, it’s not particularly vicious - all the witch is really doing is causing property damage, and as frustrating as that is, it doesn’t particularly get the blood pumping.

Doesn’t, that is, until Steve, halfway across the street with a mom and her two kids in tow, hears a whistle in the air. “Cap!” Tony shouts on the comm, but it’s too late. All Steve can do is turn and brace himself in front of the pedestrians as the jagged piece of glass embeds itself in his torso.

The world goes black for a moment, and when it flickers back to life, Steve realizes he’s fallen to his knees. The mother and her children are gone - made it to safety, he hopes. Shattered pieces of glass surround Steve on all angles, like icy flowers. Dizzily, Steve tips to the side, feeling something hot burn against the back of his neck. Maybe he’s cut himself.

“- shit, Cap, I’m on my way -  _fuck,_ fuck this bitch and this -“

That’s Tony, Steve thinks. Tony will fix this. It doesn’t matter how bad it is; Tony will know what to do. After all, he’s Tony.

There’s a whine and the sharp crunch of breaking glass as the Iron Man suit lands beside Steve.

“Fuck,” Tony says, flipping the visor up as he falls to his knees beside Steve. “Jesus, Jesus fuck -“

The gauntlets retract back into the rest of the suit, and Steve watches Tony’s hands, vaguely transfixed by their sure movements. They’re shaking, Steve sees, shaking and covered with blood.

“Tony,” Steve manages around the hot poker twisting in his chest. “Tony, I’m sorry.”

“Fuck,” Tony says again, voice raw. “Steve, just hang on for me, okay, just -“

He presses hard on Steve’s wound, packed with some sort of polymer from the suit, and Steve has to grit his teeth to keep from screaming. Dark spots dance in front of his vision, an inverse of the night sky, and Steve struggles to stay awake against the black pulling him under.

“Tony,” he says again. He doesn’t know what else to say. How can he convey to Tony everything he wants him to know? How sorry he is, how okay he is, how much he loves Tony.

But he doesn’t have to. Just as Steve is opening his mouth to speak, Tony glances up at him and meets his eyes. For a split second there is nothing, and then it’s all burning - Tony, blazing into every cell of Steve’s being, sweeping through him and twisting him up, like fire, like water, like the serum that warped Steve’s DNA, his future, his everything.

 _I love him,_ Tony is thinking,  _I love him I love him I love him, please don’t die, don’t die, can’t die, can’t be happening, not now, I love him, he deserves to live, please, I love him -_

 _I love you, too,_ Steve thinks as clearly as he’s able. The words ring like a bell between them and Steve sees the widening of Tony’s pupils when he hears them.  _I love you,_ Steve thinks again and closes his eyes.

He drifts off to the sound of Tony screaming in his mind.

-

Steve wakes in a hospital bed.

For a long moment, staring at the bright backs of his eyelids, he considers trying to go back to sleep. He’s tired in a bone-heavy kind of way, and surely, if he’s in medical, there’s nowhere else he has to be? He tries to remember. There was coffee, and bacon, and Tony avoiding his gaze, and -

Steve’s eyes shoot open and he immediately tries to push himself up.  _Holy shit,_ he thinks. It’s like his mind is a hall of mirrors, and the shock is just bouncing around, consuming all of Steve’s other thoughts, becoming brighter the longer he looks at it.  _Holy shit, Tony loves me._

“Lay your ass back down.”

Steve turns his head. It’s Sam, sitting in the rickety wooden chair next to Steve’s bed, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.

“Where’s Tony?” Steve rasps.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Talking to the doctors,” he says, “because he’s your emergency contact, and you were just impaled by a two-foot piece of glass. Lay down.”

Steve glances down at his bandaged stomach, weighing the probability that he’ll be able to make it out of the room. The doctors probably aren’t far down the hall, and his stitches would probably hold up - but then he glances back up at Sam, the resolute look on his face, and sighs, laying back down.

“Good,” Sam says, pushing himself up from his chair. “Here.” He gets a little cup from a side table and passes it to Steve. The water is tepid, but soothing on his throat; Steve sips at it carefully.

“So, Tony’s really pissed at you,” Sam says casually, like it’s a perfectly normal piece of news. In a way, it is. “Been yelling at anyone who’ll listen about how you’re a stupid sweater-wearing dork who has no sense of self-preservation.”

Steve snorts. “Bit of pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?”

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know, man, I wouldn’t exactly call him a stupid dork. Though he does wear sweaters.”

Steve makes a face at Sam and Sam grins. Their eyes meet, and Steve braces himself subconsciously for the rush of Sam’s thoughts and emotions to hit him - but they never come.

“Yeah,” Sam says, seeing the confusion flicker across Steve’s face. “Thor took the chick down a little after you passed out, said something about a minor deity, daughter of Freya, trying to bring right to the world - what the hell do I know. Anyway, it’s taken care of, is the point. Our minds are officially our own.”

Steve nods. “Good,” he says, though in reality, his chest is a churning mess of emotion. Is it good? He would have liked to be able to connect to Tony on that level again. It truly is one of the most intimate things Steve has ever experienced, and there’s no one he’d rather share that with. Then again, Tony was clearly uncomfortable with it, and it’d be a shame to have to go without seeing his beautiful eyes.

“Anyway,” Sam says after the silence stretches a moment too long. “I’m glad you’re awake. It was really touch and go for a while there, and - well, everyone will be very pleased. I’m just going to go call them, okay? And find Tony, while I’m at it.”

Steve nods, and Sam leans forward to squeeze his shoulder - touch lingering, grounding, warm - before he disappears out the door. Steve settles back into his nest of pillows and sighs as even the slight movement makes his stomach twinge. It’s been a while since he was this badly injured - almost a year, in fact - and in the meantime he’s almost forgotten what this sort of pain felt like. The reminder is - not exactly welcome.

But  _Tony._ Now Steve has Tony to think about. Tony with his scarred but gentle hands, Tony with his brilliant mind and brave heart, Tony with a love so strong for Steve it scares him.

 _He loves me,_ Steve thinks, feeling like a child and not caring.  _He really loves me._

There’s a soft knock on the door, and Steve turns to look. There, as if summoned, stands Tony. His clothes are wrinkled, his hair astray, and his face is red and puffy.

“Hey,” Tony chuckles, voice wet. Tears well in the corners of his eyes, and he brings one hand up to swipe at them. “You know, a doctor was just telling me how you might not wake up. And now you,” Tony’s voice breaks, “You -“

“Of course I was going to wake up,” Steve says, pushing himself up against the pillows despite Sam’s earlier warnings. His stitches burn, and he couldn’t care less. “We haven’t even kissed, yet. I’m not going to miss a chance to kiss my best fella.”

Tony breaks out into a painful-sounding laugh, and then he’s stumbling forward into Steve’s waiting arms. “Fuck you,” he chokes out, burying his face in Steve’s neck. “You asshole, I thought you were dying on me.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around Tony. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

The name falls out without a thought, but it feels normal, too right to second-guess. Steve feels Tony’s damp face against his neck, and he hates that Tony had to be upset by this, but he also can’t imagine being happier than he is right now.

“So,” he says, struggling to keep from sounding too elated. “You love me, huh?”

Tony sniffs, leaning back so he can look Steve in the eye. “Yeah, I love you,” he says, and a sharp thrill shoots through Steve, hearing those words out loud. “You jackass.”

Steve can’t even muster a halfway-decent indignant expression. “I love you, too,” he says, brushing his thumb over Tony’s jaw.

“I know,” Tony murmurs. “So, hey, you gonna kiss me or what?”

Tony’s lips are soft and chapped when Steve kisses him. For a moment - just a moment - the kiss is light, tentative, and then Tony turns his head just slightly and it clicks. Steve pulls Tony in a little closer with the hand on Tony’s waist, feeling Tony’s hair brushing his forehead, the smooth wet warmth of his lips against Steve’s. Their eyes are both closed, but it’s okay. Steve doesn’t need to be able to see into Tony’s brain to know what he’s thinking.  _I love you,_ Steve thinks, feeling it like a second heartbeat, thrumming against his ribs. He knows Tony is thinking exactly the same thing.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at nasafic.tumblr.com


End file.
